Boyd Family Portrait
by Saiyuri of the Red Shadow
Summary: Sometimes death is just a new beginning.


Who knows our story better

than the wind in the trees,

better than the beat of the human heart?

* * *

He's not expecting it. He's not expecting to live longer than the electricity has to get to him. He thinks they are all done for as soon as the power returns. As soon as the pain tears through him in a way that feels too soon all things considered.

He is wrong.

Everyone is moving so quickly and he's trying to just get out but Kali is faster than him, is stronger than him. It makes sense that he would be killed by her, of all the alpha's she seems the most vicious.

He expects her to rip him to shreds, claw him down to his very bones.

But the pain leaves him hazy and confused. He doesn't realize what's happening until it's too late. Then Derek's voice surrounds him like a shroud:

"No, no, no, no, no."

"I'm sorry please. Please."

He can smell the salt of his tears and the anguish that practically oozes out of him him. After that it gets a little foggier and he's not sure who's talking anymore. But it doesn't really matter what he says. The edges of his vision turn black and he sees Erica. Beautiful, brave, powerful Erica. He wants to see her again. Wants to be with her again.

Before it's all over he hears Cora scream his name.

(The sound of death is white noise)

* * *

There is a song playing in his ears, no, it pounds through his whole self. Filling his entire being with the sound of countless voices. They sing his name over and over in an endless harmony.

We welcome you, fourth of the beloved line.

* * *

there is a house in beacon hills, just off Elm Street between Alder Place and Oak Lane where the Boyds make their home. on the walls are hundreds of photos. professional and personal, polaroids and store developed, framed, bare, secured by push pins and blue gum. all lovingly placed with handwritten notes on the back.

in the morning Grandma Boyd took a picture of her youngest grandson.

on the back it reads:

I dreamt of your daddy last night, stay safe wherever you go.

but tonight she knows what is gone and what has remained. she knows that her grandson will not return to her tonight.

but he will return.

* * *

Being dead is much less distressing than he'd originally thought it would be. In all honestly the actual dying is the worst part. The pain and the blood and the feeling of helplessness. But actually being dead is painless. This isn't so bad. He feels lighter, less burdened, like he's free of all earthly attachments, a sense of peace fills him.

He's at a loss as far as what to do and ultimately alone with no idea of where he is or how to get anywhere else. There's no pearly gates or fiery pit or anything of the signs that he learned about in Sunday school. He's just alone in a dark, moist swamp lit up by only the murkiest of "light", and the occasional wayward firefly (do fireflies still happen in the...wherever he is?). He senses no immediate danger but still feels a lingering sense of foreboding.

"Well ain't this some fuck shit."

There's nothing to do or see so he simply waits. Something will happen sooner or later. It's unnecessary to run into any situation half cocked and if his grandmother was right (as she usually was) it's best to stay put when you're lost.

* * *

on the kitchen counter, next to the magazines and above toaster is a photo of Erica Reyes. her skin is splotchy and flushed and her hair is wild. she is smiling, relaxed and at home in the Boyd household. she is wearing Boyd's grey sweater and stirring the batter for a chocolate cake.

on the back it reads:

Our family's newest edition :)

* * *

"Boyd!"

The entire swamp ripples and sways towards the sound. And he is pulled forward with it. He slides down with the current and does not struggle, he does not fight, he just is. The voice is honeyed and soft, calling to him, melting into him and bringing him to...

Bringing him too...

"Boyd." Her bright smile lights up her face like a corona.

"Erica."

"What are you doing here so early? There was supposed to be at least another seventy years left for you." He runs a hand through her hair, mouth set in a grim line and her smile fades.

"Kali." Erica stiffens, eyes watering.

"I thought you escaped."

"I did." And that makes it all the worse. He had made it out. He was free. He could feel the moon and shift and not fear dying from any misstep. But some how they still got him.

Somehow he'd still managed to mess things up–

"Don't think like that Boyd. This isn't your fault. It's Derek's, it's Kali's, it's Deucallion's. But not yours. You can't own this." Her voice is shaking but she is not crying, not with that sharp sad expression. She wants to pull him out of his dark thoughts (how did she know?) and keep him honest. She wants him to be free of his guilt, however misplaced it may be.

And he wants to let it go. He's held on to so much in his life, why should his death be made just as heavy. But he doesn't have the means to, not now, not yet. So instead of dealing with the heaviness, he asks,"What is this place?"

She smiles at him, without joy.

"This is where you go before you leave for good."

"...and what does that mean?" She sighs, world weary and indulgent all at once.

"It means I have a lot to show you."

(I have missed you as the sun misses the moon)

* * *

she expects at least a phone call in the days following Boyd's absence (she will not call it anything else until she dreams of teeth falling out of her daughters mouth) but there is nothing. no phone calls, no letters, and no visits. to say she is disappointed is a bit of an understatement. but four days is certainly long enough for someone to contact her.

she has half a mind to reach out and find the one that should be seeking her. her ancestors would be much obliged, perhaps her husband would do this favor for her? before she can further plot there is knock at the door. before she goes to answer she pulls out her camera and a pen.

this visit must be documented.

* * *

The swamp is so far back in his memory that it seems almost like a dream. This place, whatever it is, twists and changes at every turn, there is no consistency or solidity. Everything is malleable according to some unknown means. At any given moment they could be plunged into unending darkness only to find themselves in a thick lush forest, or a meadow made of cotton candy. It's all very disorienting to him but Erica takes it all in stride, each change of environment is met with a sort of blithe indifference one would treat a mild inconvenience.

He's impressed, awed even, and more than a bit concerned with her surprising lack of reaction. Boyd doesn't want to ask where they're, her single minded determination is a bit of a deterrent to his questions. When she's like this everything and everyone is more or less background noise.

"We're almost there. Don't worry. Just one more demon den and we'll be at our destination."

Boyd definitely doesn't want to know what a demon den is but when the world around him becomes black again he decides to just let it run it's course. After all, he's apparently been through a few. No sense worrying about this one.

* * *

when the flash goes off it's obvious that Derek Hale was not expecting it. he hadn't even heard her set it up to take the picture. his look of disorientation is one she's glad has been immortalized. she shakes out the polaroid gently and smiles at his bewildered expression.

"Won't you come in, Derek? We have a lot to talk about."

later on the bottom of the polaroid it will read:

Talia's son, He looks just like his mama.

Too bad he didn't get her class or charisma.

* * *

"We're here."

This has got to be the most normal place he'll see all day. There an actual sun and normal colored clouds. The sky is blue and reminds him of clear summer days in Beacon Hills. The grass is a strange color, some mix between orange and puce, and the flowers have faces but this place right here, with it's normal sky and honest to God house with a wrap around porch, is closest to normal he's seen all day (he's still repressing them memory of an angry sentient penis chasing them through a forest).

"Do you live here?" He asks, pointing towards the house. Erica smiles, shaking her head and taking his hand again, leading him forward through grass to the front door. The flowers giggle at them.

"I don't the people that do would like to see you." Before she can knock, the door slams open and a short brown blur knocks Boyd off of his feet and onto the grass again!

"Quatre! I missed you so much!" A warm, sharp feeling settles into his chest and he wraps his arms around her.

"Alicia," his voice cracks and wavers. She's so much smaller than he remembers her being. It felt like just yesterday when he was level with her. Now she's barely higher than his waist and her face is still round and soft from youth. For her time stopped, kept her just as small and young as she had been all those years ago. He'd stolen her life from her, he realizes. He'd stolen her chance to age and grow just but turning his back on her for a second.

The thought breaks his heart and tears fall from his eyes.

"I'm so sorry." It's soft and choked with emotion.

"No, quarte, it's not your fault. I promise. I swear." Erica lays down with them on the grass, arms wrapped around them both.

In the background the flowers coo at them.

(My arms that could not protect, shall comfort)

* * *

_With past in present_

_(I go to thee)_


End file.
